The Empty Room
by I'mgoingtoPigfartsintheTardis
Summary: Sherlock is back, but he doesn't understand. How could he? He never went through what John went through. Until now. Post Reichenbach drama. Kind of depressing.
1. Chapter 1

The Empty Room

* * *

This is painful for me to say, so I'll be brief. Harry I love you and I'll always be proud of you, don't ever doubt that. I could have never imagined a better sister, and I know that you will live a wonderful life. My only regret is that I was never there enough for you. I guess now I never will be. Just one more thing; don't let this take over your life. You bring so much light into this world that if you stopped shining the world would have no light left. Goodbye. -JW

What!? What's happening?-HW

Answer me damnit!-HW

* * *

John sat alone in his room with his phone strewn on his bed beside him. He closed his eyes and tried to still the shaky hand that brought a gun up to his head, but found he couldn't. Okay. It was going to be okay. John tried to mentally prepare himself for what he was going to do. Suddenly his whole frame shook, and he doubled over. taking deep breaths he straightened and put his finger on the trigger. He swallowed thickly and muttered "I'm sorry" through parched lips.

* * *

Sherlock walked into 221B for the first time in 12 months. He had waited for Mrs. Hudson to go to the market before walking in. It was best for him to deal with one person at a time, and something made him want to be with John before facing the world. He walked into the living room and had a sudden urge to sit down. He would be working on a case and then John would come home from shopping and ask him if he could for once help put the groceries away and then everything would be the way it was supposed to be and... No. Things weren't going to go back to the way they were until he fixed them. Sherlock chided himself for his sudden lapse in logic and headed for John's room.

* * *

When Sherlock died the world was supposed to end. John was sure of it. But the universe didn't seem to get the memo. People kept moving, the sun kept coming up, groceries kept needing to be bought, and bills kept needing to be paid. Sherlock's death was nothing. No one cared as long as the Earth kept spinning. Life moved on. The first week John kept to himself. He kept thinking that if he waited long enough Sherlock would come back. Sherlock always comes back. He would ask him to fetch his cellphone from his jacket, or hack John's computer, or leave body parts and dangerous substances in the fridge. He never came.

Finally John started to pull pieces of his life back together again. He managed to keep a steady job, and pay the bills. And that's when the nightmares started. John was in Afghanistan and there was gunfire and noises. Then he was on the top of a building, no he was on the ground and Sherlock was on the top and John tried to run to him but he couldn't move and Sherlock was falling and there was nothing he could do.

John always woke in a cold sweat. The same dream over and over.

John's eyes peeled open, in a desperate attempt to escape the swirling abyss of memories. Every time he blinked he could see Sherlock fall, the thoughts refusing to leave his head. A growing sense of panic overcame him, he felt as though he would vomit. He gripped the gun tighter and brought it to his head once more, prepared to end it all. The door opened.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock reviewed what he was going to say to John when he entered the room. As he walked up the stairs he immediately noticed the note taped on the door. In shaky letters were the words:

* * *

Mrs. Hudson, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. It's not your fault. I'm sorry to leave you and I'm sorry you're finding out this way. Goodbye.

* * *

Sherlock forgot everything he had just rehearsed. None of that mattered he needed to know was that John was safe. That he was not too late. He burst through the door to find a gun pointed at his head. "Oh thank god" He breathed with a sigh of relief.

For a second, nobody moved. Then with an unexpected burst of speed John leaped up and hurtled toward him. "Oh no he's furious" was the only thought in Sherlock's usually busy mind as he prepared himself for the punch.

* * *

Upon hearing the door open, John's reflexes kicked in and he turned his gun to the door, and nearly fell off his bed. Standing in the doorway was... It was him! But... But it couldn't be. The image of Sherlock lying dead on the pavement flashed through his head. Suddenly John ran up and threw his arms around Sherlock, desperate to have some assurance that he was real, that he wasn't going to disappear.

Sherlock expected to be pummelled, but instead found himself being hugged. They hugged for what could have been minuets or possibly days, it was hard to tell. Finally when Sherlock felt as though the life was being squeezed out of him, John let go and stumbled back to his bed.

"Well that was easier than expected." said Sherlock, and then noticing the unhappy expression on John's face he added "Shall I go make some tea?"

"NO!" "You are staying right there and explain... explain how you could think for a second that it was okay to... to.." John trailed off starting to choke up.

Maybe Sherlock wasn't in the clear after all. "I had to" said Sherlock quietly.

"YOU JUMPED OFF THE BLOODY ROOF!" John exploded. "How could you not know what this would do to me!?" "I was right. you are a machine." John said icily, with a hint of pain in his voice.

Sherlock walked over and sat down next to John. "They were going to kill you if I didn't jump." began Sherlock, looking down at his hands. "Well too bad. I was going to do that anyway." John interjected coldly.

"John listen to me." Said Sherlock looking up at John. "Moriarty's men were going to kill you, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade if they didn't see me jump. I don't think I could live with that, knowing that I could save your life." After that John was less tense and his expression softened.

"Why now? Why a year?" Said John. Sherlock noted signs of depression, anxiety and paranoia. "Moriarty's men were still out there. I had to make sure you were safe before I came home." Sherlock said hesitantly. If John had another breakdown, his mental health might not be easily salvageable.

Apparently Sherlock had said the right thing, because John looked at him and smiled. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. Out of nowhere John groaned and laid his head on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock put a hand on John's forehead and said, "You have an approximate fever of 38 degrees. You need rest." John laughed and said, "I'm a doctor. You think I hadn't noticed?"

At the sight of John laughing, Sherlock released breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Still" said Sherlock. "You need to sleep."

* * *

_A/N: Sorry for the wait. Homework and stuff. Next chapter will be up in two to three weeks. Special thanks to Sonia for helping out._


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